


Positive

by MissBarbieAnne



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Nausea, Sickfic, Vomit, emeto, sick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 05:53:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13475061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissBarbieAnne/pseuds/MissBarbieAnne
Summary: Loghan cannot figure out why she has been feeling so sick that past few days, but a trip to the hospital might answer her questions.WARNING!EMETO/VOMIT TRIGGER WARNING





	Positive

**Author's Note:**

> warning: descriptions of vomit

I laid my cheek on the edge of the toilet, completely ignoring the fact that it was probably really gross. The cool porcelain felt soothing to my flushed face, the sheen of sweat making my skin feel sticky.

I did not understand why I was getting so _sick_. Anytime I tried to eat anything, it came right back up. This did not feel like the flu or a stomach bug, because after my stomach was empty, I felt fine. There was no fever, no chills, no aches.

I squeezed my eyes shut as another wave of nausea hit. I groaned, lifting up my head just as another mouthful of vomit fell into the toilet with a splash. I dry heaved for a couple minutes after, spitting bile into the water and flushing the toilet. I think I was done, for now.

Slowly, I stood up, preparing for the dizziness that seemed to be as persistent as the vomiting. As expected, my vision blurred and I held onto the counter as the room spun. I took some deep breaths through my nose until my vision cleared and then I headed back out to the living room.

Benson was not home; the last few days, he was gone when I woke up and came home when I was in bed. It was his schedule during the week and I expected it. I just didn’t expect I’d be throwing up for the last three days.

It wasn’t just in the mornings either. I felt nauseous anytime I ate. I was starving and would eat, but once the food hit my stomach, my body immediately wanted it out. Sometimes I could go a couple hours and feel okay, only to have it come up the minute I even smelled food. It was getting to the point where not even water would stay down. I tried taking small sips to coax my stomach into accepting the fluids, but the nausea would hit eventually.

I needed to tell Benson. I was going to tell him. I knew I needed to. But he had been so busy and so had I. Between classes and work, we barely ever saw each other. But tomorrow, I would tell him what was going on. I could hold on until then.

 

With my stomach empty, and the risk of throwing up again minimal, I grabbed my bag and walked to the bus stop. I had a couple classes to get to, and then a 4-hour shift at the shelter after that. I grimaced, thinking back to the other day when I was ducking into the bathroom any chance I got and unloading anything I had eaten or drank that day. I decided that, in order to avoid that, I would just drink water today. That should be okay.

I took small sips on the bus, but my hands were shaky and I almost spilled the water down my front. I knew it was because I hadn’t been able to keep anything down for days, and my body was feeling the effects. Fatigue tore at my limbs and I wanted to fall asleep right there on the bus. But it stopped abruptly in front of the school, and I grabbed my stuff and hurried off.

My stomach started growling during my first class. I was starving, but the thought of food made me taste bile in the back of my throat and my mouth filled with saliva. I swallowed thickly, struggling to pay attention to the lecture. But when the two hours were over, I rushed out and headed straight to the school café. I was famished. Maybe a plain bagel would be safe.

 

I took bird bites, washing them down with water as I sat in my second lecture. My stomach stopped growling as I slowly filled it with the plain bread. The nausea stayed at bay, and the shakiness finally stopped. My head felt clearer and I could focus, taking notes as the professor lectured for the next two and a half hours.

3:00PM came and the lecture was over. I gathered my books and packed up my bag, standing up to head back to the bus stop. The minute I stood up, the room starting spinning. I clutched the edge of the table, waiting for everything to stop moving. While the room went still, my stomach did not. It felt like it was flip-flopping and I closed my eyes as nausea washed over me. My body went hot and my clothes felt sticky and I knew I had to get to the bathroom. I ran out of the room and turned the corner, heading straight into the Woman’s Bathroom. Throwing my bag on the ground, I slammed the stall door shut and knelt down right as I threw up all over the side of the toilet. I didn’t have time to feel bad about missing before another wave poured out, and another, and another. The bagel and all the water I had drank came right back up, and after twenty minutes, I was sitting on the bathroom floor panting. My skin started to cool off, and my damp skin left me chilled. Shakily, I stood up and went over to the sink. I splashed cool water over my face, wiping the chunks off my chin and the corners of my mouth. I swished some water before spitting it out, then took a couple tentative sips from my water bottle.

 _What is wrong with me?_ I stared at my reflection, noting the bags under my eyes and the fatigue that was evident all over my face. I looked as exhausted as I felt.

I pulled my phone out, about to call-in to work. But it was already after three, and my shift was supposed to start at four. It was too late now. With a sigh, I pushed the bathroom door and walked to the bus stop.

 

The four hours drug by excruciatingly slow. I moved slower than normal, my body weak from malnutrition. I knew the feeling; I had spent many days hungry, feeling my body waste away. But this was different. I wasn’t starving because I was not eating, I was starving because my body was rejecting anything I put into it.

I had to run to the bathroom halfway through my shift, but all that came up was a mouthful of bile. I played it off when I came out, but I still got a worried glance from my coworker. I ignored her.

Finally, my shift was over and I took the bus back home. Benson would not be home until 11:00PM, and sometimes I would wait up for him. Not this time.

I was ready to pass out the minute I walked through the door. I dropped my bag and coat on the floor and slipped off my shoes. After a quick shower, I threw on a big t-shirt and curled under the covers. I was asleep within minutes.

 

I didn’t remember Benson coming home, and I didn’t remember him leaving. I slept straight through until my alarm woke me up at 9:00AM. I blinked groggily, staring at my blaring phone. I almost _never_ slept this late, and only set the alarm as a precaution. My class started in 30 minutes.

I jumped out of bed, quickly throwing on a pair of jeans and a shirt, slipping my hoodie on as I slid into my sneakers. Without eating, I was out the door.

Skipping breakfast must have been a good thing, because I was not nauseous once, but my head was fuzzy and I had trouble focusing. My stomach was loudly growling, and I was sure everyone could hear it. It was embarrassing, but I was just relieved to not be hit with nausea when I stood up.

My movements became increasingly shakier as class ended, and the dizzy spells were worse. I had to stop walking and hold onto a bike rack while I waited for the spinning to stop. The walk to the bus stop was slow going, but I eventually made it. I collapsed onto the bench, clasping my shaky hands together and squeezing my eyes shut when my vision started to swim.

I was just hungry, I told myself. When I got home, I would talk to Benson and we would figure out what was wrong. He would know what to do, and we would get my stomach to keep food down again. He would figure this out. I knew he would.

The stairs at the complex were difficult, but I eventually made it to the top. With a trembling hand, I unlocked the door and stumbled inside. I deposited my bag on the table and headed straight to the bed. I flopped down on my stomach, prying my shoes off before curling up under the covers.

 

“Loghan?”

I mumbled an incoherent response, ducking further under the blankets. Someone grabbed them, and pulled them down to expose my face. I heard a laugh.

“Are you tired, love?”

It was Benson. I opened my eyes a sliver and looked at him. _What time is it?_

I glanced at the wall clock and saw it was only 2:30PM. He had just gotten home.

I tried to push myself up, but my arms shook so bad that I couldn’t.

Benson noticed.

“Are you alright?” He placed a hand on my forehead, but I knew I didn’t have a fever.

He reached over and pulled me into a sitting position. I leaned against the headboard and just stared at him. How was I going to start..?

“Are you sick, love?” He asked, tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear.

I nodded. “I-I think so... I don’t know.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I don’t know if I’m sick or if it’s something else. If someone is wrong.” I wrung my hands.

“What’s going on?”

“Well…” I sighed. “I haven’t been able to… eat.”

He leaned forward. “You haven’t been eating?”

I shook my head. “No, I’ve been eating. It’s just… every time I eat…”

As if on cue, my stomach flipped. There was nothing in it, but I still gagged, covering my mouth.

Benson shot off the bed. “Are you going to be sick?”

I shook my head again. “There’s nothing there.”

Benson put two and two together. “Every time you eat, you throw up.”

I nodded.

“What about water?”

I shrugged. “I haven’t been able to keep much down the last few days.”

Wait, wait,” Benson held up a hand. “ _Days_? How long has this been going on.”

I felt sheepish now and looked away. “Since… Monday night?”

“So you’re saying,” Benson pinched the bridge of his nose. “You haven’t been able to keep anything down since _Monday_?”

He was obviously waiting for an answer, but I didn’t give him one.

“Open your mouth.”

“What?” I asked, surprised by his question.

“Just open your mouth.” He turned on the flashlight on his phone, and when I opened my mouth, he peered inside.

“Shit, Loghan,” He breathed, turning the light off. “Your mouth is drier than a fucking desert. You’re dehydrated.”

“I’m not surprised,” I mumbled.

“I’m going to go get you some water.”

I tried to stop him, but he went anything. When he came back, he pushed a water bottle in my hand.

“Drink,” he instructed.

I complied, taking a couple small sips. It felt good slipping down my throat, and I took a couple more. I was so thirsty, but I was afraid of what would happen next.

Benson watched, then took it away when I handed it back.

“Do you have any other symptoms?” He asked. “Any aches? Does your stomach hurt or is it just nauseous?”

I shook my head. “It’s just… waves of nausea that hit without much warning. And then once I throw up, I’m fine.”

“Nothing will stay down? Have you tried like, soda crackers or toast?”

“I ate a bagel yesterday,” I told him. “It came right back up after class.”

“You went to _class_ like this?” He said.

“It’s not like I’m dying,” I muttered.

Benson let out an exasperated sigh.

“I’m going to make you some toast and I want you to try to keep it down, okay?”

He helped me out of the bed, obviously concerned by the way my legs shook as we walked to the couch. I nearly collapsed onto the cushions, and he draped the throw blanket over my shoulders. The water bottle was placed on the side table and I took a couple more cautious sips.

A couple minutes later, Benson brought over a couple pieces of dry toast. He set the toast next to the water before sitting down next to me.

My stomach growled loudly in response to the smell, and I wanted to shove the whole piece in my mouth. But I paced myself and took small bites. Soon, I had finished one whole piece and was working on the second.

“Good,” Benson rubbed my arm, leaning over to kiss my cheek. “You need to eat. Your body needs its strength to fight off whatever this is.”

I nodded, taking another bite. I chewed slowly, and then realized my mouth was filling all too quickly with saliva. I tried to swallow it down, but ended up gagging right as my stomach violently protested the small meal. The nausea hit hard and fast, and I was on my feet and racing to the bathroom before Benson even knew what was going on.

I retched, the food not even digested as it forcefully came back up. The first wave was all toast, and the next two were just straight water. I gagged as a wave shot out my mouth, and Benson was behind me with a hand on my back. He held my hair back as a wave of water and bile came up, and I let out an involuntary whimper.

“This sucks,” I gasped as a small amount of bile hit the water.

“I’m sorry, love,” Benson cooed, rubbing his hand up and down my back. “I was hoping it would help.”

I pressed my forehead against the seat, letting out a moan as more nausea wracked my abdomen.

“We need to go to the hospital.”

Benson’s words made my body go rigid, but I knew he was right. This was Day 4 of not keeping anything down, and my body was so weak and tired and dehydrated, I couldn’t see another option.

My only response was a small nod.

“Can you walk?” He asked placing his hands on my shoulders.

I shook my head, and next thing I knew, he was lifting me up into the air.

 

Three hours later, I had an IV into one hand and someone drawing blood from my other arm.

My blood pressure was extremely low (84/44) and my pulse was racing (122), all tell-tale signs of dehydration. My electrolytes were depleted and my body was starting to crash. But, with a bolus of fluids and electrolytes, they expected I would make a full recovery.

But no one could figure out _why_ the vomiting had started.

Flu and food poisoning was ruled out. Gastritis was possible, and even though I was afebrile, they were checking for appendicitis.

Bloodwork was being done to determine the cause.

Lab came and drew several vials of my blood. I hardly even noticed, as I was falling in and out of sleep as they came. I was so exhausted, and I was curled up in the warm blankets they brought in when the fluids made me cold.

Benson held my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze every so often. As much as I hated hospitals, coming in for fluids wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t like I was going to be here overnight… at least I hoped.

I was waking up when I heard the nurse come in, followed by one of the doctors. Benson gave me a gentle nudge awake, and I straightened up. I already felt stronger and the shaking was gone.

“How are you feeling, Miss Farren?” The doctor asked, walking over to stand at the foot of the bed. The nurse came over to check the bag of fluids, which was now empty. How long had I been sleeping?

“I’m alright,” I said.

“Any nausea right now?”

I shook my head. “No, I feel okay right now.”

“Good,” the doctor smiled, looking down at her clipboard. “I’m going to send you with a prescription for Zofran. It’s an anti-nausea medicine that I hope will help.”

“Did you figure out what wrong with me?” I asked, looking over at Benson. He looked just as interested.

“Yes, we got your labs back.” The doctor said, but she seemed a little unsure. It made me nervous.

“And?”

“Are you alright if he hears your results?”

I looked over at Benson and almost laughed. “Yes, it’s fine.”

“Okay…” She cleared her throat. “I’m just going to say it. You’re pregnant.”

I stared at her. I mean, I really stared. My mouth might have been open, I wasn’t sure.

We were both silent.

Then Benson spoke up.

“C-Can you repeat that, please?”

“We ran a routine pregnancy test with your blood samples, and the result was positive,” The doctor explained. “Now… we can discuss your… options, if this was not planned.”

I was still quiet. There was a good possibility I was in shock.

Benson looked over at me. “Loghan?”

I jumped slightly. “What?”

Benson smiled. “You’re… you’re pregnant. Not sick. _Pregnant_.”

“Well,” the doctor continued. “There is something wrong. I believe she has _Hyperemesis Gravidarum_. It’s a rare condition that causes increased vomiting and nausea in pregnant women. It effects about 1 in 100 women. But I’m hoping the medicine will help decrease your symptoms.”

“Great…” I mumbled.

“Loghan?” Benson squeezed my hand. “Are you okay?”

I shrugged, but it felt like there was a weight in my stomach.

What the _fuck_ was I going to do?

 

The drive home was awkward. We picked up the pills and headed straight back to the apartment.

The nurse gave me several pamphlets. One for a Prenatal clinic, one for WIC, one about common symptoms of pregnancy. She also sent me with two others… one about adoption and one about abortion.

I put them in the prescription bag and decided to look at them later.

Benson was fidgety, and I knew he wanted to talk about this. But I just wanted to wait until we were inside.

Honestly, I did not _want_ to even talk about it _at all_. It could be a mistake, right? Maybe they mixed up my blood with someone else’s.

To be safe, I picked up a pregnancy test while we waited for my prescription.

Right when we got inside, I headed to the bathroom. Benson followed.

“Loghan, we need to talk,” Benson spoke carefully.

“Hold on,” I said, tearing into the package. “Let me do this first?”

“Loghan,” Benson furrowed his brows. “They tested your blood. That test is pretty much 100% accurate.”

“Maybe they swapped blood samples,” I sat down on the toilet and stuck the stick between my legs.

Benson sighed. “I don’t think that happens…”

I placed the test on the sink when I was done and washed my hands before walking out of the bathroom. “Still possible.”

“Loghan,” Benson grabbed my arm as I walked by him. “We still need to talk about it.”

I sighed. “Okay, fine. What do you want to talk about?”

We sat down on the couch and he took my hands in his. “What do you want to do? Be honest with me.”

I stared at our hands and finally the reality of the situation came crashing down on me. I started crying.

“I don’t know!” I sobbed.

Benson wrapped his arms around me. “It will be okay.”

“How?!” I cried, pressing my face into his chest. “We are still in school! We don’t have any money. How are we going to afford a _baby_?”

“My family will help,” Benson said, rubbing my back. “I can pick up extra shifts. You only have a semester and a half of school left and you will be done in the Spring.”

“Benson,” I shook my head. “I'm only _twenty-one_.”

“So?” Benson kissed the top of my head. “My mom was nineteen when she had me. My parents made it work.”

I leaned back, wiping at my eyes with my sleeve. “What if… what if I don’t want to keep it?”

Benson was quiet. He looked down, not meeting my eyes.

“If that’s… if that’s what you want…” He sighed. “I would support you. Of course I would support you. I love you.”

I cried again and flung my arms around his neck. I pressed my face into the groove of his neck.

“I don’t know what to do,” I whispered.

He pressed me closer, holding me tight in his arms.

“We will figure it out,” he promised.

I nodded, and untangled myself from him.

It was time to check the test.

I got up and picked it up from the sink. I took a deep breath before looking down.

The results were clear as day.

Two pink lines.

Positive.


End file.
